With A Little Help From My Friends
by tlttmn
Summary: A mostly episodic look into the lives of the CSIs throughout the series after Megan Donner's departure and the rather unorthodox arrival of a new team member. Full team frendship with a slight focus on Eric/OC friendship. Rated T for language.
1. Pulse

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own anything having to do with the CSI Franchise or CSI: Miami.**

**A/N: I've been toying with this idea for years now (since season one, in fact), and I've just now finally gotten up the guts to post it. The basic idea is that this is going to be mostly episodic in nature, with each chapter based off of a one-word prompt. Chapters will range from full legnth stories to short blurbs. I think that OCs can be a wonderful addition to storylines, as long as they're done right and not Mary-Sues or anything, and I hope I can pull off a well developed character in this, and that in the end you guys enjoy it.**

**Some things to know: -This has a bit of a focus on Eric/OC, but honestly it's mostly friendship and whether it'll ever get beyond that, is still up in the air and kind of improbable. I beleive in keeping as much with canon as possible, and I don't aim to change that in any other way but to add my character into the mix (which is, admittedly, a pretty drastic change). At least not until Season six, anyway, as I've never really been a fan of Eric/Calliegh (don't hate! I love Calliegh, just not with Eric!), but that's just my personal opinion. There's no guarentee I'll ever even take this that far anyway.**

**-The OC's name: Mikhaila is pronounced (Mee-kai-la). It's a Ukrainian spelling that I think looks pretty (and there is a reason for this particular choice too, but you'll find that out later). Her nickname is pronounced "Mee-ka"**

**-I'm always open to suggestions for prompts. And if I can answer questions without giving things away, I always will.**

**-I can't guarentee any kind of updating schedule, but I will try my best.**

**-These first two or three chapters are going to be less episodic in nature, just because it's kind of set up.**

**And without further ado, lets get on with it!**

**vvvvvvv**

**1 - PULSE**

Mikhaila Borodin was alive. She was alive and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to enjoy it for once in her life. The past two years had been so filled with chaos and insecurity that she couldn't help but grin widely as she handed her ID over to the bouncer, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder as she did so. It was a new city, a new job, a fresh start, and Miami was the perfect place to do it. It had such a drastically different feel than her native New York. It was bright, vibrant, and as she stepped into the club and the pounding of the bass reverberated in her chest the word "pulsating" came to mind. That was it: Miami had a pulse. It had a pulse and so did she.

"Are you coming or what!?"

The twenty-five year old Mikha turned her head to face her sister Kat as she identified her voice over the music. The tall, also blonde girl held out a shot glass, offering it with a lopsided smile. Mikha raised an eyebrow. Seriously? Shots? Already? She had been a bit worried about the amount of alcohol that was going to be involved when Kat had come up with the plan earlier. It wasn't like she couldn't drink with her meds, but she was always wary when it came to prescriptions and she still had a week left on them.

"Where did you get those? We haven't been here thirty seconds even!"

Kat's grin widened as she shoved the alcohol into Mikha's hands and leaned in towards her ear. "This is Miami, sweetie. Don't question. And loosen the fuck up, will you please?"

Mikha took the glass, eyeing it for a moment. The music changed, and the bass pulsed through her chest faster, demanding movement. She looked up at the DJ, the strobe lights behind him flashing frantically. Kat nudged her arm in encouragement, and Mikha shrugged and downed the liquid and let Kat drag her into the throng of dancers.

Fuck it. She was going to have a good time tonight. Even if it killed her.

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The first thing Mikha noticed as she woke up was a pulse.

It wasn't her's.

Her eyes snapped open as the sordid details of the previous night rushed back to her, and she jumped back from the tan skin that filled her view. She slid off the bed, sinking to the floor and scanning the room, attempting to orient herself.

Okay. Boxes covered in her handwriting. Those were hers. She was in her new apartment.

She looked down and stifled a gasp. She was in her apartment and she was naked. With a man in her bed. No, scratch that, with a man _she didn't know_ in her bed. And there was a high probability that he was also naked.

Fuck.

She forced herself to breathe deeply as she looked for the box her underwear was still packed in, desperately trying to be quiet and looking anywhere but at the bed. She did _not_ want whoever this naked man was waking up until she was fully dressed. And fully rational. The rational thing was key.

As she turned a little to her left, she got a glimpse of a foot hanging off the edge of her bed and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again. She didn't do this. She didn't go to sexy clubs in an unfamiliar city. She didn't get drunk the night before her first day at work. She didn't sleep with strange men the night after moving in. Hell, she didn't sleep with strange men, PERIOD. What the hell had gotten into her?

And then it dawned on her.

"Kat," she hissed aloud as her eyes narrowed, immediately regretting the noise as she heard the sheets rustle behind her. Her heart sped up and she froze. The rustling stopped and she relaxed a little bit. This was Kat's fault, she was sure of it. The girl had been wild since she started college down there three years ago, and only more so since turning twenty-one. Of course she would have been a bad influence. Mikha never should have let her take her out.

Her blue eyes scanned the room for her purse, which finally located thrown haphazardly in a corner, with its contents half on the floor. She quickly stuffed everything back into it and darted to the bathroom, all the while avoiding a glance towards the bed. She really didn't want to know what her beer goggles had made her drag home.

Her pulse rate was back up as she quietly shut the door, settled herself on top of the toilet and began to empty her purse, examining the contents. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Lipstick, eyeliner, blush? Check, check, and check. Condom Box?

Mikha's breath hitched, half out of embarrassment and half out of fear. In her panic she hadn't even thought about whether they had used protection or not. Please, she prayed, let it be less than full. Please let her have not made this huge ass mistake even bigger than it already was.

She gingerly opened the box and counted the little packages inside. Eleven. And how many were supposed to be in there? She held her breath as she turned the box over, and her eyes widened a little as they found what she was looking for. Fifteen.

Really? She stared at the door in front of her, trying to breathe deeply and not let the details of the previous night rush back too vividly. It didn't matter. She didn't want to know. As long as she'd used protection, it would be okay.

After a few deep breaths to steady herself and chase away the flashes from the previous night, she grabbed her phone and dialed Kat's number. This was her fault, and she'd have to answer for it.

"Good Morning, Sunshine!" Her sister's cheerful voice sounded through the speaker.

"Why is there a stranger in my bed?" Mikha didn't even bother saying "Hi."

"Well sweetie, when a man and a woman meet—"

"Oh don't you _dare_ 'sweetie' me right now. There is a naked stranger in my bed, and I have to be at my first day of work in an hour and a half. _Why didn't you stop me?_" Mikha was now pacing across the tiny bathroom, clutching the phone to her ear and mouth so she wouldn't have to speak loudly.

"Wait, he's still there?"

"Yes, he's still here." She sighed and leaned against the door. What was she going to do?

"And he's naked?"

Mikha blushed again and immediately pushed away from the door as she thought about what was waiting on the other side. "Highly probable."

"Oh, sweetie! Get a picture for me!"

Mikha's head snapped up. "What?"

"He was a hottie with a body! I want a picture if he's still sleeping and naked."

"No! I'm not providing your pornography."

"Not even a head shot?"

Mikha rolled her eyes. Her sister was so ridiculous sometimes. "No. Now tell me how the hell to get him _out_."

"Oh, sweetie." Kat suddenly sounded like she was talking to a five year old. Mikha's blood pressure skyrocketed. "I'm sorry. I may be a college student, but I never did the booty call thing. You're on your own. Love you!"

Mikha stared at her phone in shock as she heard the "click" of her sister hanging up. There was no way that was really happening. There was no way her sister just totally abandoned her in a compromising situation. Mikha resumed her pacing, only to come to a stop a few strides later.

"Okay, really? It's not funny anymore," she said aloud as she raised her eyes to the ceiling. "And you wonder why I haven't been to church in ten years." She let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the toilet seat. Wrapping the blue robe she was wearing more tightly around herself, she closed her eyes. She had to do this. She had to get it over with. She'd been through way worse in her life. She could do this. A new determination coursing through her, she stood up. She not only _could_ do this, she _would_ do this.

The door squeaked a little as she eased it open, gradually peering out through the crack towards the bed. Naked Guy's head was turned away so she couldn't see his face, but one thing was for sure: he was _definitely_ naked. Mikha's blush started anew. At least Kat had been right about one thing. He did have a nice body. A nice, tanned body with a nice, tanned chest. She suddenly had the urge to giggle like a teenager.

Okay, that was not going to fly.

She quickly turned away, shutting her eyes tight. It didn't matter how nice his chest was, _he had to go_. This was not behavior befitting to a cop. This was not behavior fitting to a scientist. She could not let herself be swayed by physical attraction into letting a man who shouldn't be there to begin with make her all giggly. Cops and scientists did many things, but giggle wasn't one of them. No matter how vivid the flashes of memory from the previous night were.

"Come on, Mikha," she whispered to herself, gathering her wits about her again. In one swift movement she closed the distance between her and the bed, and carefully dragged the sheet over to cover Naked Guy's more… well… _naked_ areas. That took care of at least some of the giggle factor.

Moving around to the other side of the bed, she took a moment to examine Naked Guy's now visible face. Kat had been right, yet again: he was a good looking guy. Clearly Latino, probably Cuban based on location. He had a strong jaw line, nice lips, good hair… But it didn't matter. He had to go, and Mikha just had to forget about this and move on with her new life.

She reached out, shut her eyes tightly, turned her head away, and gave his arm a strong poke.

"Hey."

She poked him again, her arm extended fully, putting as much distance as possible between her and him.

"Hey, Naked Guy. Wake up."

"Mmmmmmm…," he turned his head, but didn't open his eyes. She instinctually clutched her robe tighter around herself at his movement.

When he didn't wake, Mikha dropped her face into her hands for a moment and took a deep breath. Clearly this was going to take more effort than she had hoped. So, she poked him again.

Nothing.

"Hey, Naked Guy!" She was louder this time.

Again, nothing.

"HEY!" She poked him again.

Finally, his eyes flickered open, big and brown. Mika froze, arm still extended from poking him, her own eyes wide and startled.

Naked Guy sat up, and rubbed his eyes. Mika snapped her arm up to her robe, pulled it as tight around her as possible and began to slowly back away.

"Hey," he looked over at her, a small amused smile playing across his lips, "Not Naked Girl."

Again, she clutched her robe shut, fully aware that he was still very naked under that sheet. And very aware that his big brown eyes were now staring directly into hers. And also very aware that she couldn't look away.

"You have to go." The words came out as more of a squeak than the strong authoritative cop voice she had been aiming to use.

"Well, good morning to you too." He raised one eyebrow at her.

She forced herself to break eye contact. "I start work in an hour and a half. You have to go." Her voice was much steadier now that she didn't have his eyes prying at hers.

He slowly looked around, spotting his boxers on the floor beside the bed. He grabbed them and she turned away so he could put them on.

"I don't do this ever, you know." Her cheeks twinged pink again. She didn't do this. She didn't have one night stands. She had always been the good girl… when she had been the one to make the choice, anyway.

"You don't do what? You can turn around now, by the way."

She turned, but still refused to meet his eyes.

"This," she gestured to the bed. "Sleep with men I just met."

He smiled, his lips parting to reveal perfect white teeth. Mikha wondered if he had had braces as a kid.

"You said that last night."

Mikha cocked her head to the side. She genuinely didn't remember that. "I really don't, you know."

"I believe you." He looked up at her as he began buttoning up his shirt. "It's okay. Shit happens." He held out his hand. "Since we didn't do much talking last night, I'm E—"

"NO."

His eyes widened, startled at her interruption. "No, what?"

Mikha shook her head furiously. "No names."

He looked at her for a minute, and she suddenly felt very guilty for reacting so harshly. He seemed like a nice enough guy, there was no need for her to be so abrasive.

She sighed a little. "I can't do names. I just really need to forget this." His eyes went wide, and she quickly jumped back in, waving her hands in front of her, "Not that it wasn't wonderful or anything. Because it was." She could feel the blood rushing to her face as she rambled. He let out a small chuckle as she continued. "I just can't handle this in my life right now, and if I know your name, forgetting is going to be a lot harder to do."

"Fair enough." He smiled with his perfect teeth again. "I'll just be getting on my way then. I have a job too, you know." He chuckled and held out his hand once more. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Not Naked Girl."

Mikha felt like twenty pounds had been lifted from her shoulders as she looked at him. He clearly understood, and seemed genuine. His smile became infectious and she was suddenly feeling empowered as she smiled back and took his hand. "And it was wonderful meeting you too, No Longer Naked Guy. I'll walk you to the door."

He checked to make sure he had his wallet in his pocket, and then turned his smile on her again, "Maybe we'll meet again someday." He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and she laughed.

"Maybe."

As she shut and locked the door behind him, her head was spinning. She had just done the most purposefully reckless thing in her life, and she had to be at her first day of work in an hour. Her eyes located a clock, while her brain assessed how long getting ready and driving there would take. Deciding she had the time, she collapsed against the wall and slid into the fetal position.

And so she just sat silently for a while, listening to her pulse race.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it so far! I'd love some feedback with your opinions!**


	2. Nerves

**A/N: Hello All! Here's the next installment, I hope you Enjoy! (p.s. I hope I spelled Calleigh's name right... I wrote this without internet access so I couldn't double check!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own or be officially affiliated in any way with CSI: Miami or the rest of the CSI Franchise except for being a fan. I do own my original character, but not the world in which she lives.**

**Chronology: Takes place somewhere in between 01x12 "Entrance Wound" and 01x13 "Bunk"**

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**Nerves**

The Miami-Dade Crime Lab was beautiful. An architectural wonder of clean lines and glass silhouetted against a startlingly blue sky.

Somehow, that made Mikha even more nervous.

She knew it was silly. She knew it was irrational. She knew she had no reason to be nervous. She was a good cop who was well over-qualified to move up to CSI status. She had two undergraduate degrees—chemistry and criminal justice—and half of a master's, all from NYU. In the year she had spent as a patrol cop in New York City, she had seen more than most cops see in their whole careers. Add on top of that everything she'd been through personally, and there was no explanation for why she was so nervous. At this point, nothing should faze her. But still, there she was, sitting behind the wheel of her car trying to control the churning of her stomach and the shaking of her hands. Her round face was flushed already, and her usually clear blue eyes were flashing with borderline panic as she examined herself in the rearview mirror.

Leaning forward as she took the key out of the ignition, she laid her head against the steering wheel for a moment before gathering her purse from the passenger side and getting out. The heat hit her face as she opened the door, making a sweat spring up on the back of her neck. Good thing she didn't wear makeup to work because it would have been a mess in minutes.

The Miami heat was something she didn't think she'd ever get used to.

The churning in her stomach got worse as she began to approach the building. She had been on edge all morning; her little transgression the previous night had thrown her way off her game, just in time for her first day at work. She shook her head a little as she began to climb the stairs. The fact that she had actually just had a one night stand still wasn't really registering with her. It was so totally uncharacteristic, and she was finding it so hard not to just write it off as a bizarre dream.

The door opened before she got to it and an older red-headed man in a suit stepped out in front of her, putting on sunglasses as he addressed her.

"Ms. Borodin."

Mikha smiled broadly at the sight of her childhood next door neighbor and the reason she became a cop in the first place. "Horatio Caine, you old dog you. I see you're still sporting those ridiculous glasses of yours." Her stomach settled almost immediately.

"I find there's a much more pressing need for them down here." He gave her a fatherly hug before continuing. "May I ask, how is your mother doing? She was quite shaken up last time I spoke with her."

Mikha's eyebrow popped up. Horatio had always had a knack for asking questions without actually asking them. "Well, you know how mothers are," she replied, "She's fine now that I'm fine. A little heartbroken that I up and moved all the way down here after everything, but I couldn't stay."

"I understand. So are you enjoying Miami so far?"

Mikha adjusted her weight uncomfortably, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Well, Kat got me into a bit of trouble last night, but otherwise, it's beautiful."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" She saw his eyebrows rise over his sunglasses and a small smirk appear on his lips. He had helped Kat maneuver her way through quite a few underage charges during her previous three years at Miami U and knew full well how wild the girl had gotten since beginning college.

"Naw," Mikha felt her cheeks flush a little, "Nothing serious. I am the older more sensible one, after all."

Horatio laughed a little bit before switching into business mode. "Well, we're all set inside for you to start. Thank you again for coming on such short notice. Megan didn't really give us much warning of her departure."

"No problem. I needed a change. Plus you know I've been looking to get out of patrol since everything happened."

"Indeed. Well, let me show you around." Off came his sunglasses as he opened the door and ushered Mikha inside.

The interior of the lab was much darker than she had expected from the outside. She let her eyes adjust slowly as she followed Horatio down the dark hallways, suddenly understanding why he had immediately donned his sunglasses when he had stepped outside. Where the walls weren't windows into various labs, they were a dark blue, and the floors only slightly lighter. Even the lighting had a blue tint to it. The darkness aside, from what she saw as she glanced through the windows, the labs were well stocked and contained some pretty impressive equipment.

"I think you'll find our labs more than satisfactory." Horatio spoke as he noticed her scrutiny.

"I don't doubt it."

"On your right is the trace lab, and down the hall there is DNA, over to the right you'll find—"

"Horatio!"

Mikha turned towards the voice to see a petite woman with long platinum blonde hair rushing towards them, a large smile on her face. Mikha's stomach started churning again. She could only assume that she'd be working with this woman from now on, and meeting people she knew she would be around more than a few times always made her a little nervous.

"Calleigh," Horatio had stepped forward to meet the woman, his hands on his hips.

"Alexx asked me to drop this off with you; the tox report on our vic came in." She handed him a manila folder.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The blonde woman turned to Mikha abruptly. "So I assume this is the new girl?"

"It is indeed. Calleigh, I would like you to meet Mikhaila Borodin."

Calleigh held out her hand and Mikha shook it as the woman introduced herself. "Calleigh Duquesne. Don't ask me to spell it. Southern." Her tinkling laugh filled the hallway momentarily before she continued. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mikhaila." She gave a big, warm smile that immediately put Mikha at ease.

"Mikha is fine. And it's a pleasure to meet you too."

"Calleigh is our resident ballistics expert," Horatio explained.

Mikha smiled as something clicked in her head. "Horatio didn't tell me I'd be working with the infamous Bullet Girl."

"I see my reputation precedes me." She let out another bright laugh, and even though Mikha hadn't thought it possible, the woman's smile widened.

"A guy I worked with up in New York went to a conference you presented at once, and didn't stop talking about you for weeks."

Calleigh began to reply, but her cell phone began to ring, cutting her off. "Excuse me, I'll have to get this. I will certainly see you around!" She turned and walked, no, _bounced_ away down the hall, waving behind her as she answered her phone.

Mikha turned to Horatio with a raised eyebrow. "She's… incredibly happy."

Horatio smiled knowingly. "It'll take a few days, but you'll get used to seeing happy cops." He began to usher her back down the hall in the opposite direction from where Calleigh had disappeared. "Let's go meet the boys."

Mikha was feeling much more confident as she strolled down the hallway behind Horatio. Meeting the first person was always the hardest, and Calleigh seemed like a very kind woman. She was certainly good at what she did, which also made Mikha feel better. Knowing she was going to be working around intelligence _always_ made her feel better.

However, as she looked in the next window they passed and saw two men bending over an evidence table, she stopped in her tracks and felt the blood drain from her face as the churning in her stomach began anew.

She recognized one of them.

"Umm, Horatio?"

Horatio stopped with his hand on the door to the room the two men were sitting in. Meanwhile, the man inside the room looked up and spotted her through the window, his own eyes going wide, and his hands freezing in the middle of dusting a glass bottle for prints. The second man looked at him quizzically before turning his eyes over to Mikha as well.

"Yes?" Horatio cocked his head to the side as he looked over.

"I think we may have a problem." She turned away from the window, afraid that if she made eye contact with the guy from this morning again, she was going to vomit. So much for this job. She'd have to move back to New York in the morning.

"I don't think I can work here." Mikha began fiddling with the strap of her purse, avoiding Horatio's eyes, but at the same time trying to look anywhere but inside that room. She knew when she woke up this morning that this was going to come back and bite her in the ass. She _knew_ it. She never did shit like that for _this very reason_.

Horatio moved away from the door, stepping towards her and putting his hands on his hips. "And why is that?"

"You know how I said Kat got me into a little bit of trouble last night?" Mikha immediately felt the color that had dropped from her face rush back all at once.

"Yes,"

Mikha felt like she was fourteen again as Horatio peered at her through squinted eyes. "Well, that Cuban guy?"

"He was the trouble." Horatio finished for her, a small laugh escaping from his lips as he looked through the window. Mikha risked a glance and saw the guy looking just as shit-panicked as she felt as he looked back at Horatio. The pale man next to him was laughing.

"Not a problem." Horatio spoke. "We're not like NYPD: what goes on in your personal life is no business of ours. Let's go meet Speed then, since you already know 'that Cuban guy'" He laughed a little before simply turning and striding into the room as if Mikha's stomach wasn't eating itself for breakfast.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breathing before following him. The pale man had gotten up from the table, but the guy from that morning was still seated, his big brown eyes following her as she moved. Mikha couldn't tell if it was out of shock or repulsion. Maybe it was both.

She came to a halt next to Horatio, her hand tightening on her purse strap until she couldn't feel her fingertips any more.

"Speed, Eric, I'd like you to meet our new CSI, Mikhaila Borodin."

Horatio's voice seemed to snap the guy, now identified to Mikha as Eric, out of his stupor, and he stood up and joined who Horatio had referred to as "Speed."

Speedle shook her hand, a snide smirk placed on his face. "I'm Tim Speedle." He turned his head towards Eric, "I guess you two will _have_ to do names now."

Eric punched him lightly in the arm with a wary look toward Horatio. "Shut up." He then turned to Mikha, who was sure everyone in the room could hear her heart pounding and her stomach churning as it ate away an ulcer. Eric held out his hand with a big sheepish smile. "Eric Delko."

"Mikha Borodin." She shook his hand hesitantly, wishing she could just go curl up in a hole somewhere and never come out. Both parties let go of the other's hand quickly.

Thankfully, Horatio's pager went off, drawing everyone's attention off the awkward exchange. "DB on the causeway." He looked up at the three CSIs, his eyes lingering on Mikha for a second before he continued with a totally straight face, "Speed? You come with me. Eric? Finish giving Mikhaila the tour, would you please?"

Speedle laughed as he followed Horatio out of the room, "Have fun you two." He popped his head back through the door before he turned the corner, "But not too much fun." And with a suggestive eyebrow raise, he was gone, leaving Mikha and Eric alone.

Mikha dug the toe of her shoe into the floor as she avoided meeting his eyes, feeling much as she did in seventh grade when Jimmy Jones had pantsed her in gym class, revealing that she had just gotten her first period to the whole class before she had even known it herself.

Eric laughed nervously, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little. He was taller than she remembered.

They both started to speak at the same time, and then stopped with an awkward laugh. "Go ahead," Eric said.

"No, you go ahead."

They lapsed into another awkward silence until Eric finally broke the tension. "Listen, do you want to just forget what little we both remember about last night? Start over and forget that we ever met before? Because I'm not really looking for a relationship, and judging by how things went this morning, I can only assume that you aren't either."

Mikha let out the breath that she didn't realize she had been holding. "Oh thank God."

They both laughed.

"Start over?"

"Absolutely." Mikha held out her hand with a smile, "Mikhaila Borodin."

He returned her smile as he shook her hand and she noticed that his teeth weren't nearly as straight as she had thought they were this morning. Before he could reintroduce himself, his phone rang.

"It's H." he informed her before flipping open the small device. "H., what's up? … Okay, we'll be right there."

With a snap of the phone, he turned to her, fishing keys out of his pocket. "Looks like we've got foul play. Ready to start your first Miami case?"

"Ready and willing."

"Alright, let's grab you a kit and get on our way." With that, he turned and walked through the door, with Mikha following closely.

He stopped suddenly, about halfway down the hallway and turned to her. "Oh, and I should probably warn you, we may be forgetting about this morning, but you should know that I doubt Speed will let us live it down any time soon. He's kind of a smartass."

Mikha furrowed her eyebrows. Of _course_ she had to have brought home the guy who brags about his sexual exploits. "Do you make a habit of telling your coworkers about your one-night stands?"

Eric put his hands up defensively, "No, no. It's not like that. I was technically with him and his date at the club last night. He knew I left with you."

"Riiight… which is exactly why he knew I said no names." Mikha started walking again.

Rushing to catch up, he let out a nervous laugh, "Besides, this morning wasn't exactly a typical 'morning after,' and he asked."

Mikha laughed. She shouldn't be getting this much joy out of making him uncomfortable. Wasn't she the one who, only moments ago, wanted to crawl into a hole and die?

"Dude, don't worry about it. We're forgetting about it, remember? Besides, something tells me you should be well practiced in this whole 'awkward morning after' thing." She never thought she'd be feeling this causal about a one night stand. Especially after finding out you are now co-workers with said one night stand.

He smirked. "Well, I was just trying to warn you."

She had managed to get slightly ahead of him, so she stopped walking and turned, cocking one hip to the side and placing her hand on it. "Don't worry about it. I can guarantee you I'll give him a run for his money."

"Well, aren't we confident for someone who claims to never even _have_ one night stands, not to mention have dealt with the fallout afterwards."

"Are you implying that I'm a liar?"

"Not at all, _especially_ considering how you handled everything this morning. I'm just impressed."

Mikha rolled her eyes with a chuckle. It was shocking how comfortable she felt joking around with this guy. "Can we just get my kit and get on with this? I have a job to start."

"Alright, alright."

And as they walked down the hall side by side, Mikha's nerves calmed. This was going to be alright, and the speed at which awkwardness had turned to mutual, all-in-fun teasing was astounding.

"You just want to forget about it because you had no social skills this morning."

Mikha stopped in her tracks and turned towards Eric, who was now whistling and looking around at the ceiling. "Excuse me?"

He looked at her, his eyes wide and his face feigning innocence. "What?"

She shook her head, a sly smirk appearing. "That's okay." She tilted her chin up and began walking again. "Your teeth aren't nearly as straight as I thought they were."

Behind her, Eric stood motionless for a moment, a smirk appearing on his own face before he started moving and caught up to her.

"You've got some nerve." He laughed.

"I know."

"This is going to be fun."

"I know."

"Come on, rookie, let's get your kit."

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! (And P.S., I came up with this WELL before I ever heard of or saw Grey's Anatomy. Though I used to be a Grey's fan too, as I stated last chapter, I've been toying with this idea since season 1, way back when, and the manner in which Mikha gets introduced to the team has always been this in my head!) From here on out, things will be more episodic, and very possibly not in chronological order, and things will focus on other members of the team.**

**P.S. - Reviews and opinions would be lovely!**


	3. Motorcycle

**A/N: Hi, everyone! It's been a while, but I'm back. From now on these are going to be pretty episodic in nature. Maybe even some drabbles here or there. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own or be officially affiliated in any way with CSI: Miami or the rest of the CSI Franchise except for being a fan. I do own my original character, but not the world in which she lives.**

**Chronology: Takes place somewhere in between 01x12 "Entrance Wound" and 01x13 "Bunk"**

**VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV**

**Motorcycle**

"Listen, Bambi--"

Mikha's eyes shot over to the driver side, mere slits in her head. "Goddamnit, Eric, I have a name, and it's not fucking Bambi."

Speedle shifted in the back seat. "He's just glad he's not the owner of a newbie nickname anymore."

"Shut up, Speed."

Mikha turned in her seat and raised an eyebrow at Delko, speaking deliberately to Speedle instead of him "Well, he could have at least come up with something that doesn't sound like it came out of a low-budget porn movie."

"Hey, now. Last time I checked, Bambi was an adorable baby cartoon deer, not a past her prime stripper." Eric quickly glanced over from the road. "You're the baby of the team, you've got deer-like legs, and huge eyes. It works."

"In fact," Speed's monotone piped up from behind her, "you could say it's a term of en-_deer_-ment."

"Ha. Ha. I see what you did there." Mikha couldn't help but crack a smile at that one. She was trying so hard to be surly, to try and discourage this newbie nickname shit. It wasn't working. Time to try a different tactic.

"So you never did get around to telling me what your newbie nickname was, eh Delko?" She turned her head, batting her apparently cartoonish eyes to the best of her ability, a sweet little smile plastered on her face. Speedle had told her earlier what he, as the previous newbie, had dubbed his new co-worker.

"That, Bambi, is strictly confidential. And Speed: keep your mouth shut." A withering glance into the rear view mirror assured the trace expert's continued silence. "Anyway, as I was saying, Bambi, I want to warn you that motorcycle fatalities can be pretty gruesome... are you sure you're up for this one?"

"I'm not a level one, Delko. I may be a newbie here, but I'm not a first-timer. I was up in New York. On patrol too. I've seen everything and then some." This kid glove shit was really starting to get on her nerves. She'd been working at CSI in Miami for three weeks now, but she'd passed level one status years ago while still in NYC. In fact, it was within a year of graduating college. Even though she'd settled into an amusing personal rapport with her two male coworkers, their insistence--Delko's specifically--at treating her like she'd never done any CSI work at all was really becoming grating. Just because she came from patrol doesn't mean she'd forgotten everything.

"Patrol may see it, but patrol never touches it. I don't want you getting sick once we start processing."

Mikha's teeth were clenched now. The surly thing was coming more easily with every second. "If you'll remember, I was a CSI first. I switched to patrol because there was a severe cop shortage. Shit happened that made it clear patrol wasn't for me, and that's when I ended up down here. I'm a level two. I can handle this without being coddled. Besides I guarantee you, I've seen much worse, and on a much more personal level."

Delko sent a skeptical glance her way. "Well, Bambi, I hope that's the truth. We're here."

Before Mikha could retort, he had pulled the car over and hopped out, moving around back to grab the kits. Mikha was fuming now, and just sat in her seat for a second, taking deep breaths. Speedle clapped a calming hand on her shoulder, assured her that this all paled in comparison to the hazing he had given Delko, and slipped out of the Hummer himself. Mikha reached for the door handle, deciding that she'd show him. The audacity he had to call her past into question. "I hope that's the truth?" What was that shit?

As Speedle handed her her kit, he raised an eyebrow that suggested, "You know what to do," and she immediately did. She'd cut him down to size, and fast. And if she needed some extra punch after using her secret weapon, she could always bring up their unfortunate first meeting. Any mention of that night still made him a little uncomfortable. But for now, she had a job to do.

As she pushed past the police tape, it became clear that Delko had been right about one thing: it was gruesome, alright. The victim had literally been torn apart. The skidding action from the crash had eaten away the poor guy's whole front, leaving nothing but ragged tissue and cracked bone where a face should be. Identification was going to be tough. The cops on the scene had already looked for some form of ID, something... anything... but to no avail. The poor guy was nameless and mangled. His bike was not much better off than he. The impact left it a pile of twisted metal, scraps of what looked to be wrapping paper peaking out here and there among silver and black. As Mikha wiped sweat from her brow, she had to wonder, did he have family out there expecting him? Was he on his way to a special gathering somewhere, a child's birthday party perhaps, his trip tragically cut short by some asshole in an SUV? Hit and run fatalities always struck a certain chord with Mikha. She just didn't understand how someone could hit someone like that, and just leave them to die.

At that moment, Delko voiced just that question aloud.

"Because they're fucking evil, that's how." It was clear the venom in her voice had startled both men as their heads whipped to face her. "Come on," she knelt down, opening her kit and pulling on a pair of gloves. "Let's get to work here."

****

Page after page of tire treads flashed in front of Mikha's eyes. There was only so much more of this she could handle before her eyes started to shrivel up.

"I think I've got it." Delko's voice came from across the room like a miracle from God, and Mikha looked up, her eyes taking far longer than they should have to adjust to the shift in distance. By the time she got them to focus, Delko had moved around the table, binder in hand. "We're talking a 1999 Dodge Ram."

Mikha sighed and rubbed her eyes. That didn't narrow it down too much, but at least it was a start. "Well," she plopped herself down on a nearby stool, gathering her hair into a messy bun as she spoke, "at least it's a start. Hopefully that paint transfer we found will get us a little farther. Speed say when he'll have those done by?"

Eric sat his bulky frame in the stool next to her and half tossed the binder onto the table. "Probably not until tomorrow morning. And we can't really do anything until we've got that information."

"We're working on overtime already anyway. I'm thinking it's about time to call it quits for the day." Mikha was exhausted. And hungry. Really hungry.

"I agree." Eric ran his hands over his head and then looked up at her. "You want to go grab some food over at the diner?"

Mikha's stomach took just that opportunity to growl. Loudly.

Eric smiled. "I'll take that as a 'Yes'."

Mikha gave a half-smile in response. She liked this guy, and enjoyed hanging out with him, but really was not in the mood for more newbie "counseling" or whatever it was he seemed to be trying to do. On the other hand, she really was starving. So she wordlessly hopped from her stool and began putting away the reference binders. As she was putting the last one on the shelf, Eric spoke, sounding almost tentative.

"You got pretty angry at the scene for this one. You sure it wasn't too much?"

Mikha sighed and slammed the binder into place. "No, Eric, it wasn't too much. I don't know why you seem to have such a low opinion of what I can handle. I've been doing this for a while. I'm really done with the newbie shit. I did that in New York. I don't need that treatment here." She turned and leaned against the counter, looking him straight in the eye. He didn't look away.

"That still doesn't explain the reaction at today's site."

"Someone left me on the side of the road to die once too. I told you. I've been there, I've seen it all." Mikha stopped there. She had no intention of elaborating.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring each other down like two tigers trapped in a cage, each searching for a sign of weakness in the other. After a minute Eric's eyes softened, as if he'd come to a conclusion. He spoke first.

"Alright then, Bambi. Let's go. I'm starving!" He gave Mikha a huge grin, and turned, striding out the door. Speedle's earlier admission came back to her. It didn't seem like the nickname was going to go away anytime soon, but at least she had driven the nail in the coffin of the "poor little newbie" act. And if he was going to nickname her? She was going to bring his back into use as well.

"Alright... Merman." And with that she strode past his now stilled frame.

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**P.S. - Reviews and opinions would be lovely!**


	4. Aging

**A/N: Not much to say with this one, other than my Russian's pretty rusty. Okay, a LOT rusty. Okay, since we're being honest here... BEYOND rusty. So if you're a Russian speaker and know that what I wrote does not mean what I meant for it to (Cossack [f.]), then please PM me with the right word so I can fix it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own or be officially affiliated in any way with CSI: Miami or the rest of the CSI Franchise except for being a fan. I do own my original character, but not the world in which she lives.**

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Age

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Time line: Takes place after 01x13 "Bunk"

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"So I heard your retirement home homicide turned out to be not quite so." Mikha strode into the break room to find Delko sprawled across the couch, coffee cup in hand.

"Yea, purely accidental. Poor thing stumbled in her own home and ended up offing herself."

The coffee maker was calling to her from across the room, and she answered it, grabbing a cup for herself as she spoke. "I also heard you're going to make your poor grandmother live like a cloistered nun in her final days?" That got his full attention. He swung his legs onto the floor, righting himself.

"Damn southern belle," he muttered before addressing Mikha directly. "That's a gross and biased oversimplification."

"Is that so?" Mikha turned, now full mug in hand, and leaned against the counter. Her legs crossed as her weight settled on the edge.

"Yes."

One blonde eyebrow quirked. "So what are you going to do if she _wants_ to go live in an assisted living apartment complex?"

Delko threw he a skeptical look. "Why would she ever what to do that?"

"Uh, because it's fun?" She upturned her free hand for emphasis. "My grandparents live in one up in New York, and they love every second. Seems to me like college all over again, only this time you're eighty instead of eighteen."

"Would you want to live in someplace like that?" Delko squinched up his nose, "It reeks of impending death and decay."

"Absolutely I would. It's not a nursing home, Eric."

"Sure seems like one to me."

"It's apartments for the elderly with minor nursing available if they need it, not a life sentence in a hospital room. You keep your independence in those places." The look on Delko's face made it clear that Mikha had yet to sway his opinion. So she tried a different tactic. "For example, I would never want to go out unable to socialize, which frankly, if I was shacked up with my family, wouldn't happen. Besides. If I'm still able to function for the most part, it seems silly to me to shackle my extended family with that responsibility." She finished and took a sip of her coffee, waiting for a rebuttal.

He continued to stare at her silently over his coffee, so she added, "Besides, who in their right mind is going to let their eighty year old grandmother get some tail in their house? And lets face it, if I was going to make it to eighty, I sure as hell better be getting some."

It was Eric's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You don't plan to make it that long?"

Mikha placed her mug down on the counter before waving his comment away. "Naw, I figure if I make it to seventy-five healthily, then I'm going to take up sky diving. Like good old G.H.W. Bush there. Only instead of on my birthday, I'm going to do it as often as possible, and solo."

"Oh really..."

"I want to go out with my adrenaline pumping, in the middle of action. Do it Spartan style, come home with my shield or on it." She stopped and laughed a little. "Or in this case, my parachute. And at seventy-five, with sluggish motor skills, I figure it's only a matter of time before statistically something goes wrong." She shrugged. "That way it's still a natural death."

Eric's brows furrowed and he took another sip of coffee before asking, "Why seventy five?"

"Well, I figure that up until that point I'll probably still be doing something that can get me killed in my daily life."

He let out a small chuckle as he swung his legs back onto the couch. "Bambi, you're an odd duck."

Mikha picked her mug up again. "I know."

The pair sipped their coffee in silence for a moment before Mikha spoke again. "How 'bout you, Triton?" Over the past week or so Mikha had evolved his newbie nickname into something she thought more equal to hers, giving his previous moniker of "Merman" the Disney twist he seemed so eager to push on her.

"How 'bout me, what?"

"How do you want to go to that big lab in the sky?"

He didn't look over. "I want to go out surrounded by family in the comfort of my own home. Or one of theirs."

Mikha snorted. "_Cubano._"

"_K__азачка_."

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are always appreciated!**


	5. Superhero

**A/N: WOW, it's been a while. Hopefully getting something posted, short and silly though it may be, might get my writing mojo going for this one again. Enjoy and review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original character. Nothing.**

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**Timeline: During 1x15: Dead Woman Walking**

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"Oh, stop fussing. Your swimmers are going to be fine."

"I'm sorry, Bambi, were you the one exposed to the radiation? And who said I was worried about my swimmers?" Eric was pacing and jittery, all but bouncing off the walls of the break room.

Mikha did her best to suppress a laugh, failing miserably. He was just too predictable. "You're Cuban. Let's call it a lucky guess."

"You seem to make an awful lot of assumptions based on my ethnicity, there Bambi." He halted for a moment, crossing his arms and frowning over at her. But then then stillness became too much and he was once again on the move.

She continued to watch him from her spot on the couch as he fidgeted around the room. "Was I right?"

He stopped moving and frowned at her. Again. There was an awful lot of frowning coming from the otherwise cheerful CSI. Being called out didn't sit well with him, Mikha guessed. Touchy topic.

She sat back, sipping on her coffee triumphantly as his silence confirmed her correctness. When he continued to look annoyed she chuckled again. "Hey, it's not my fault you're a walking values stereotype."

"You been talking to Speed?"

"Of course."

"Damnit." He reached over for the coffee pot, a plastic cup at the ready, and Mikha was on her feet.

"Hey hey, now. That's the last thing you need." She gracefully eased the pot out of his hand, placing it back on the burner. "Come on, Triton. Pull yourself together. You're going to be fine. Those guys out there, they were radiation experts. You gotta trust 'em." She took him by the arm and led him to the couch. "Sit. Breathe."

He sighed in resignation. "I know, I know. It's still weird though."

"Yea, I got that." Confident that he was seated and staying there, she moved and warmed up her own mug of coffee. Much as he shouldn't have it, she certianly needed it. It had been a late night thanks to her sister's drunken shenanigans. It was usually nice to have her sister so close. That is, until she showed up at her door drunk as a skunk at two in the morning, sobbing over some douche bag.

"It's just, thinking that my chances at having a family could be finished, just like that... before I even had a chance to think about it."

Mikha pushed Kat out of her mind and plopped down on the couch next to him, genuinely feeling sorry for what had happened. Poor guy was really spooked. Well, hell, she probably would be too. She'd just be more worried about cancer and leukemia and the really scary shit. Not the viability of her eggs. That would be the last thing on her mind. "Don't tell me you're hearing your biological clock ticking. That's women's territory."

"Well I'm not getting any younger. And my mother is Cuban, as you seem so fond of pointing out. She's achin' for grandkids."

"Yea, well, she doesn't need them right now, does she? And even if she does, you've got sisters. Besides, this is all such a moot point anyway. A few hours ago? Okay, I'll give you that. But you've been given a clear bill of health. The radiation guys cleared you to go forth and procreate." She swept her arms out in a grand gesture, almost tipping her coffee as she did so.

He said nothing but raised an eyebrow with a smirk, shifting his big bulky frame as he resisted fidgeting. She was making him slightly uncomfortable, she knew. But she secretly found it hilarious. However, enough was enough. It was time to cheer him up.

"Besides, what you should be worrying about is not NOT being able to conceive, but rather hoping that your children won't end up with some bizarre super power." She laughed as a small smile began to spread across his features. Good. She hated seeing him get all neurotic over nothing. She kept going.

"I mean, flying would be a pretty good one, but you don't want them turning out like the human flame or anything." She leaned back, speaking very scientifically and matter of factly, as if she what she was pondering was perfectly possible. Nay, normal. "Because you know it would probably take them well into their teens to get control over it. And let's face it. Nobody is going to grant fire insurance to a family with a kid that spontaneously combusts."

He snorted, moving to get up from the couch. He was trying to look annoyed, that much was clear, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. A smile spread across Mikha's own in return.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You're an odd bird, Bambi."

"I think technically you mean deer."

Another snort as he began to leave the room. "Whatever."

Mikha let him get out into the hall before calling after him, "Or X-ray vision! You'd have to answer a whole bunch of questions way too early with that one!"

"Yea, yea!" he called back, continuing down the hall, his step a little springier than it had been when he had entered. Mission accomplished.

The buzzer on her watch went off, signaling the end of her break. "Back to trace..." she murmured to herself before following the same path Eric had just taken, her mind still conjuring up inconvenient superpowers for his children, just in case he needed a reminder later. Telepathy... Super-sensitive hearing... the list went on...

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought!**


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